Champagne Satin
by Petite Kitsune
Summary: (UPDATE! Chapter 5!) Minamino Shuiichi hears the voice of a possessive Youko, who insists that they belong together... and Shuiichi can't resist that satin voice...
1. Your Name

Champagne Satin  
  
Description (Chapter One!) Minamino Shuiichi begins to hear the voice of a very possessive youko, who claims they belong together. He tries to rebel, but the seductive promises his kitsune counterpart whispers are almost too much...  
  
The first time Shuiichi heard the voice, it startled him terribly.  
  
"You are mine."  
  
The voice was like satin, and it wrapped itself around his tired mind like a cool shower. It seemed to promise Shuiichi all sorts of things -- unbearable pleasure, unbearable pain. Sardonic. Rich. And oh-so-seductive.   
  
His pen hit the desk with a clatter of porcelain on plastic, and he gasped softly.  
  
"You are mine," the voice repeated, then laughed when a frisson of fear ran through Shuiichi. "You have been mine since the day of your birth."  
  
Shuiichi stood up, gripping his own forearms in a white-knuckled grasp. The acrid scent of fear overpowered his soft rose fragrance as he gasped. "Who are you?" Inane, yes; but as terrified as he was, it was quite understandable, even for the sadistic youko.  
  
"There, there," the voice came, almost soothing. "I would never -hurt- you, little one." The endearment was spoken so quietly -- such a paradox, that, like velvet whips -- but Shuiichi felt it down to the very core of his being. "You know me."   
  
"I-I do?" The redhead sat down heavily on his bed. Could it be... the youko within him? Impossible! He was too tired. That had to be it... He hadn't slept well in days; his dreams had been haunted by heated visions of things that he'd never imagined, before then. He'd woken, during the night, and been so damnably uncomfortable, he'd had to right things himself before he could sleep again. But this voice -- it was a new low. 'I'm exhausted,' Shuiichi reasoned, 'and therefore am afraid of my own mind. How foolish of me.' He almost relaxed, but then that low, taunting laughter began in the back of his mind.  
  
"Oh, yes," mocked the youko in that -voice-. "You need sleep, little one. Sleep yourself out, and see if I'm gone in the morning."  
  
Shuiichi rubbed his eyes, swallowed hard, and slipped out of his shirt, stretching. "That's just what I intend to do," he said briskly, trying not to be worried. He flicked out the lights and slid into bed, and was lulled to sleep by the kitsune's low, purring laughter and the remembered sound of rain on roses.  
  
  
  
"Just a little longer," Shuiichi moaned, and writhed under the blanket to reach his pillow, and buried his head beneath it. "Just a few more minutes." Four hours of sleep. That was all he'd managed to snatch from the youko and his incredible... presence. So indolent, so self-assured, and damnably matter-of-fact about it. He was in control, and Shuiichi was the vessel to be tossed at his will.  
  
There it went. The high, shrieking alarm of his clock made Shuiichi growl fiercely and reach out from under the pillow, groping for the snooze alarm. "Where are you?" Stupid alarm clock. Stupid sleep... Gritting his teeth, he tentatively peeped out, squinting against the daylight flooding in the window through the blind.   
  
"Not a clever idea," came the velvet voice from its place deep within him.   
  
Retreating beneath the covers again, Shuiichi swore creatively, clenching his hands helplessly in the sheets. "Damn you." What a wonderful situation. He was running on next to no sleep, beyond irritated with the voice in his mind that persisted in calling him 'little one',  
  
'pet', 'baby'.   
  
"Come now, pet, no need to curse me," pouted the youko. "You know you enjoyed the dreams." He sounded so sweetly reasonable that Shuiichi moaned in unwelcome memory. "I know whose name you whispered... and I'm loath to believe it was in hatred. You have never hated anyone, little one, least of all me." Shuiichi could almost feel the grin that would have curved Kurama's lips in their wry, sardonic twist, and he growled into the tangled sheets, but there was nothing he could say to refute his statement, aside from a choked, "I'm straight, damnit!"  
  
"Oh, that's no fun," the kitsune purred mockingly, almost poutingly. "Besides... I don't care."  
  
"Y-you don't... care?" Shuiichi spluttered.  
  
"Of course not, baby," Kurama reasoned. "You're mine anyway. Nobody else counts."  
  
At Shiori's second call for her son, Shuiichi rolled out of bed to face the blinding sunlight. "Oh, yeah?" muttered Shuiichi. "As far as I'm concerned, you don't count either." He had meant it maliciously, cruelly, to drive away the Youko with his velvet voice and seductive dreams.  
  
Kurama gave a snort. "You'll change your mind, pet, given time... and persuasion." Part of Shuiichi's mind closed to him, and the  
  
redhead swore again roundly, deadly angry with the damned kitsune. Yawning wearily, he stretched, arching his back, the sunlight gilding his body in a wash of gold. He paused to take in the familiar surroundings. Rumpled bed, one pillow thrown across the room, knocked down photograph from the wall... and...  
  
Oh. No. His homework lay open on the desk, virtually untouched aside from the neat scrawl of his name across the top of the paper, the date and the subject. Shuiichi groaned, eyeing it. He had a choice. Shower, or do his homework... choices, choices.  
  
Shuiichi breathed deeply, intending to sigh, and the sputtered as he caught a glimpse of himself, indignant. "You bastard," he breathed, and plucked distastefully at his shorts and the product of the Youko's damned dreams.   
  
But still, the choice was made for him. Shuiichi sighed fatalistically, seized a clean uniform, and fled to the bathroom, the apples of his cheeks pink with a flush of fury and rebellion. Manipulate him, indeed! Kurama would catch hell from him if -- when -- he deemed it necessary to show himself again.  
  
Shuiichi thought he could hear Kurama's laughter as he stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, washing away all evidence of the night before, cleaning the perspiration from that long red hair, but decided it was just a trick of his imagination nearly as soon as it happened. He was damnably sore, but it was a languid sort of soreness that the hot water washed away in due course.   
  
Rubbing the bar of soap between his palms, Shuiichi let himself think. He couldn't deny that he had enjoyed the dreams. So? That didn't mean he'd lost his mind. The only thing was, he couldn't deny that Kurama's voice could reduce him to a quivering mass of red hair and need. Couldn't deny that he had whispered the Youko's name, had dreamt his body, had heard the kitsune's nicknames for him as he left sanity behind. Shuiichi shuddered as he smoothed the soap over the lean planes of his body. He didn't need this, not one bit of it, but it seemed he was in it for keeps. It was either resist and live in a hell of unwanted desire, or...  
  
Or what, Minamino? he asked himself. Can't handle it? Say it. You're not a coward.   
  
Or give in, and lose himself completely.  
  
Choices, choices, Shuiichi thought wryly as he bent to adjust the water pressure and heat. He stood beneath the hot, blasting  
  
spray and let it rinse away the lather and, with it, some of his tension.  
  
No, he couldn't deny it -- any of it -- but he could try to resist.  
  
His decision was made, and once Shuiichi made a decision, it took nothing less than a law of nature to budge him. Or an incredibly sexy, possessive, sardonic kitsune with a voice like satin and a twisted imagination, Shuiichi thought sourly, but his resolve held firm. "Oh, am I in for a treat," he muttered to himself as he savagely switched off the water and wrung the worst of it from his hair before beginning a vigorous rubdown with his towel.  
  
Over the steam and the scent of his soap came the fragrance of breakfast. Shuiichi's stomach rumbled viciously, so loudly he could hear it, and he sighed his exasperation. "I have no self-control," he murmured mirthlessly as he slid into his clothes and out of the bathroom.  
  
But self-control was overrated, anyway. 


	2. Your Touch

Champagne Satin  
  
Description (Chapter Two!) Shuiichi decides to resist, but it's not as though Youko is going to make it easy for him... And -here- is where the story earns its title. (Lime... LIME...)  
  
"Oh, hell," Shuiichi muttered as he stared into the mirror. Two days without sleep would've made anyone look like a walking zombie, and it had just that effect on him. He was white as a sheet, for one thing. His ruby hair didn't help matters there; it only served to heighten the contrast between that pale skin and his wide, hazy green eyes, deepened the bruised shadows beneath them. His hands  
  
shook, his body was unsteady, and he could hardly eat a thing. As a result, he was growing shades thinner each day. If he had been slender, he was now ethereal, all faint curves and willowy grace. "This isn't working."  
  
"I told you so," came Kurama's voice, wry and velvety and rather smug. "Ready to give in yet?" Shuiichi scowled hotly.   
  
"Not hardly," he responded. He was a redhead, after all, and despite popular belief, he had the temper to go with it. Raking his hands through that ruby tumble of hair, he sighed and let it fall back into place. He looked so fragile lately, and it was getting worse day by day. "Why am I talking to you anyway?"  
  
"Because you're delirious," the youko promptly responded, sardonically purring. "I'll let you sleep if you'll just acknowledge --"  
  
"I said no," Shuiichi said firmly, shocking himself. He hadn't known he still possessed such fire; he felt so faint, so confused, but there was one thing he was certain of -- he was not going to give in to the damned kitsune. All hell would break loose if he did, and he wasn't quite certain he could handle that. There was a time and a place for everything, and Shuiichi would not disrupt that delicate balance  
  
before he was absolutely forced to. At any rate, Shuiichi thought grimly, it wasn't likely to be long. All the youko had to do was wait and, willing or not, his prize would weaken and fall.  
  
"That's not what I want," Kurama said. "Not that way. I want to break you myself. I want that fire of yours all for myself. I want you so badly..." The youko's voice was deep, vibrant, and growing steadily more husky as he spoke. "... that I would do anything to have you need me. To have you so out of yourself you can't think, only feel..."  
  
Shuiichi shuddered deeply. That damnable sadistic voice... that beautiful, damnable voice... Shuiichi could think of a thousand reasons to deny Kurama what he so desired, among the first being that he and Kurama were a synonym, that they were one and it had always been that way -- one entity, the same creature, two parts to one whole. The second was easily, what would the youko do when push came to shove? What would happen if Shuiichi grew ill, or if he could no longer slake Kurama's insatiable lusts? What happened when his frail human body couldn't steady the powerful youko any longer?  
  
Kurama sighed deeply to himself. Why didn't Shuiichi -- foolish, beautiful creature; a flighty, ruby-plumed bird at best -- understand when he said things like that? Among youkai and youko alike, one didn't mate with normal humans; the simple fact remained that their unearthly short lifespan threw a neat wrench into the works, to borrow a Ningen phrase. What was supposed to happen when the  
  
human died, and left the youkai without a reason to exist, if existing at all?   
  
Nothing. That was the simplest, and most correct, answer. Nothing at all happened, and the unfortunate creature, left without the light to his darkness, wandered deeper into the endless black gulf of time, until something or someone killed him. Waited for the end, a merciful period to a cursed life.  
  
It was why, above all other, Kurama wanted to fight it. Secretly, he wanted Shuiichi to fight it, too, but the driving demands of his intense need had been growing every day for the past sixteen years. Until recently, it had been tolerable; and only escaped when the youko had been feeling particularly randy. Understandable under any circumstances; it was dismissed as adolescence. But this latest development had shocked them both. Like a yolk from the white, they had separated, and it had left two conscious minds locked in one body, and Shuiichi in complete control for the first time in sixteen years. 'So, okay,' Kurama thought appreciatively. The boy had done an admirable job of continuing in his predecessor's hard-to-fill shoes. But Shuiichi -- he really must cease calling him 'the boy'; it wasn't at all proper -- was what he was: a child. A human child, no less -- tragically fragile, beautiful, and incredibly, impossibly sensual, with his child-wide green eyes and that ruby tumble of hair, that silken, unblemished white skin that quivered with even the faintest promise of pleasure.   
  
He might be but a child, but he was the object of the youko's lust and it was a proven fact that when Kurama wanted something, he got it, regardless of that particular object desired. Four-figure years of existence had taught him quite a few things, among them to take  
  
what he wanted, and keep it at any cost.   
  
And if Shuiichi resisted him until he could no longer, then that was what happened.  
  
  
  
"Come now, Shuiichi," Kurama murmured softly, seductively, from the back of the boy's mind. "No use in beating your pretty little head against a wall any longer. Leave off these protests. They are irrelevant; I will win this power struggle in the end."  
  
Shuiichi, whose mind had been on other things, let his hand fall guiltily and turned away from the mirror for the third time that day, eyes narrowed. "Do you think you could've chosen a worse time, Kurama?" he groaned in a slightly-husky voice, eyes sparkling with a shield of irritation that nearly concealed the stolen pleasure he had attempted to find. Flicking the bathroom light out, he stormed toward his bedroom and the meager solace of the familiar surroundings -- all in subdued, soft colors that Shiori had picked out before he was born, colors that pleased his tired eyes beyond measure. Damned randy youko. Damned weak self...  
  
"I don't believe I could," Kurama purred, laughingly, teasingly. Oh, but he could do so much better by his little redbird than -that- sorry excuse for pleasure, even in his bodiless state. "I interrupted, didn't I? So sorry."  
  
"Liar," Shuiichi snorted, fuming, as he let himself fall back heavily onto the bed. "You're not sorry." He was nearly to the point of ripping out a goodly amount of his own crimson hair, as if the pain might bring him back to the present, to a dubious, dwindling sanity.   
  
"You wrong me, pet," the youko murmured. He fell silent for a long moment, as though gathering himself, and was gratified quite nicely when Shuiichi's body stiffened.  
  
That was a new sensation... the velvety feel of a kiss brushed itself along the hollows of Shuiichi's throat, following a slow damp  
  
path down to the place where his pulse fluttered erratically. It lingered there a long moment. "Y-yes," Shuiichi whispered, his eyes closing, his voice a thready murmur that broke when the unearthly caress turned itself into a teasing nip. "Ohh, no, s-stop," he murmured brokenly.  
  
His mind cried out for him to resist it, to make Kurama stop, but his body, oh, wicked thing, it was responding like a moth responded to the lure of flame. "Kurama, stop... please..."  
  
This time the laughter that rippled in the back of Shuiichi's mind had a delighted strength to it, a decided change. "Not now, baby; I'm trying to apologize. Now be still. Don't think, just feel. Don't think..."   
  
Shuiichi moaned softly when a second delicate touch sprang to life, leaving the other to explore further. While the first had reminded him of a satin-soft, well-formed mouth, this particular one felt like fingertips, trailing a path down his stomach. The solid muscles there quivered and melted beneath the light touch. A shudder worked its way down Shuiichi's body. The crackling embers in the pit of his stomach that Kurama's sudden intrusion had extinguished, flared back into vivid glowing light.   
  
"Little redbird, I am indeed quite sorry for intruding upon your... carnal festivities," Kurama said, quiet and unbelievably solicitous. He let a third touch manifest itself, then a fourth, and his own nerves were afire with it but he ignored them; he was quite used to them. "But they are irrelevant. I am within you; I know quite well that you cannot prefer your own pitiable methods to mine... this is so much better, isn't it?" Shuiichi's body arched off the tangled covers and he stifled a harsh panting cry when one of the delicate wisping touches found the place where the pooling fire within him seemed to direct. Stars shimmered before his eyes, blazing, and his hands twisted in the blankets. "There, see? Oh, but you are beautiful... very, very beautiful..." Kurama's incredible trick of the mind had Shuiichi ablaze with a  
  
fiery emotion that was nothing like fury for once, though the redhead gasped several strained oaths through his clenched teeth as Kurama teased him mercilessly. So Kurama would hover insensate in the back of Shuiichi's mind for days -- it was worth it to hear his harsh breathing, see those liquid-emerald eyes open and staring, uncomprehending, unseeing, at the ceiling.   
  
A pair of narrow catlike golden eyes filled Shuiichi's view, and they were dark and smoldering with secret laughter, blazing with unbridled admiration. "Kurama... p-please," Shuiichi pleaded in that glorious, eloquent voice of his, begged with those eyes, let go of the covers to frantically skim his palms over his soft white skin. "Please...!"  
  
With a final burst of ravenous enthusiasm, Kurama performed a final mental trick, and whispered, "Shuiichi..."   
  
The boy let go, his body clenching and shuddering as he fell through the sky. It was too much for him. His overtaxed, overstrained body, plus the fact that Kurama knew his every nuance quite intimately, plus the husky satin whisper of his name, made him lose all control  
  
over himself, finding glorious release.  
  
And still a pair of champagne-satin eyes, half-veiled by long dark lashes, filled his vision and obliterated his mind, reducing him to soft whimpers of pleasure as he slipped downward into a spiral of darkness and rest.  
  
'Now then,' Kurama thought faintly. 'Let us see what resistance he puts up... when I have the strength to try again...'   
  
Both youko and human fell quite deliciously senseless. 


	3. Your Image

Champagne Satin  
  
Description (Chapter 3) After an incredible brush with the youko's power over his senses, Shuiichi spends a shaken night trying his best not to reach for the exhausted kitsune's mind with his own. When he finds he cannot, he realizes that something strange and shocking is to come... and soon.  
  
Shuiichi stirred very slowly, senses coming alert like a bloom spreading its petals in the noonday sun, his breathing remaining soft and even as he took stock of himself. He lay atop the blankets, spread-eagled, bathed in moonlight flooding in from the half-open window, along with a cool breeze that made him shiver and burrow into his pillow. He'd never slept in the altogether before, and especially not before night fell...   
  
It wasn't long before he was aware enough to catch the fragrance of spent desire on the air for a long moment, and it stirred his memories to full wakefulness. Shuiichi had to bite down on his pillow to keep from muttering a few choice words. The rogue had... had taken care of his... er.. tension exquisitely well, he thought wryly. For the thousandth time, he inwardly cursed Kurama, in a brief fury.  
  
Once his anger was spent, Shuiichi fell very still again, listening for Kurama's answering laughter, and growing increasingly more worried when it did not come. "Oi! Kurama!" Shuiichi said softly, calling the kitsune verbally, and received no response, not even the slow ripple of consciousness within his own mind that signified Kurama was unaware, but present.   
  
Shuiichi sighed. Perhaps the youko was carrying some sort of a grudge? Or perhaps he had finally left Shuiichi alone and gone to seek a more worthy object to bestow his attentions on? He told himself he didn't care either way -- but why did his stomach twist so at the mere thought, as though his body was rebelling against the very idea the Kurama might leave? There were some things about himself he had yet to figure out, without this added complication.  
  
Shuiichi rose, shivering in the cold air, and let himself think as he dressed properly for bed -- loose comfortable shorts, clean soft tee shirt. Just what had happened? What had Kurama done to him anyway? Even now, hours after, his body tingled with the pleasant weary aftermath of pleasure, and his pulse leapt at the memory.   
  
That was a simple answer, Shuiichi thought dryly. Kurama had pleasured him with his mind and naught else. Though simple to say, Shuiichi couldn't quite comprehend it. How? Had the devious, twisted youko turned his own nerves against him? Perish the thought, that Kurama could do such a thing from within him. If it were true, then he could easily inflict such incredible pain on Shuiichi that he would capitulate swiftly, or he could draw it out and Shuiichi would never find cease from it in unconsciousness or death, since he wouldn't truly be inflicting wounds, only the sensation of them. A shudder worked its way down Shuiichi's lean body as he sat down heavily in his desk chair. The simple question remained: where was Kurama? And again, though simple, it was a hard question to answer fully.  
  
Idiotic, insane weakness, thought the exhausted youko from his place within Shuiichi. Though he was weak, unable to speak, he still wanted to reach out a hand and calm Shuiichi, whose mind was full of things that Kurama would not do. What could he do in this half-living state? He had expended much too much energy and thought on his impulsive 'apology' for his little pet, his little precious one. If he didn't close himself off from Shuiichi, the boy would likely come and seek him, and he would have to sap the last bits of his life in reassuring him, and then perhaps never find a way to escape and be a true mate to Shuiichi, and Kurama did not want that.   
  
Enough with thought, he commanded himself, taking his impulses in hand. Be still, and rest, and gain energy. Soon, he promised, soon he would escape and do the things he wished with his -- as yet unclaimed -- mate.  
  
"Damn it!" Shuiichi muttered. So close, and then the block had slammed back down on him. His pencil broke in his hand, and he slammed the two pieces down onto the desk as his search beat a quick retreat from the place he thought Kurama was. He didn't dare try to go in any further without Kurama willing it -- did he?  
  
Seizing a stress ball from its allotted place among the pencils and papers that lay neatly stacked over his desk, Shuiichi squeezed it reflexively in one hand and rose from the chair, pacing as stealthily as a cat across the moonwashed floor. There was the question. Did he dare defy the block there and try to prod deeper?  
  
Driven by an odd mixture of defiance, anger, and worry, Shuiichi decided that yes, he did dare, he would try. With that, his long nimble fingers clamped down hard on the rubber ball and he focused himself inward until he found the place where the block cut him off. He pushed mentally, and for a moment it gave, until a starburst of pain rocketed out behind his eyes and Shuiichi had to fall back onto the bed, gasping, the abused ball bouncing off into the corner, abandoned in favor of kneading his temples. That was out of the question, he thought irritably. At least he had confirmed to himself that Kurama remained there within his mind, and that was an incredible load of fear off his mind. He had not left, but he was barricading himself off as stoutly as a fortress's walls. Hm... that was something of a surprise to Shuiichi. So it was a grudge, or something was wrong, terribly wrong.  
  
'Not hardly!' Kurama wanted to call to Shuiichi, but from his blank delirious state he could not. Dizzy, confused, lost, he lay in a daze. Though he was quickly regaining energy, it was not enough, and the turmoil in Shuiichi's mind was threatening to eject him neatly from his place there. 'Be still,' he wanted to say, 'sleep, so I can sleep and grow stronger!'  
  
Closing his eyes, he leaned back onto the pillow. "Enough with this childish foolishness!" Shuiichi said aloud, taking his emotions in hand. "You are going into fits over something you have yet to confirm!" He stubbornly refused to let himself think that for one reason or another, Kurama was blocked off because he was angry, so it had to be something else.  
  
A wave of exhaustion rolled over him, and he closed his eyes again, sighing. Perhaps, if he was lucky, everything would look better by fresh morning's light.  
  
Shuiichi slept, and he slept deeply...  
  
  
  
'Be still, Shuiichi. You have a sunburn -- '  
  
'What's a sunburn, mama?'  
  
'The sun is hot, and it shines down on the ground so hard that it can burn soft skin like yours, my little one, especially if it hasn't seen much sun lately,' Shiori laughed, as she smoothed cream over the faintly-freckled cheeks, watching Shuiichi's wide green eyes cross to follow her movements. 'Stop that, love, they'll get stuck that way if you're not careful!'  
  
'Really?' he said in awe, and then the memory faded away...  
  
There was a feeling of light --  
  
Pale silver light!  
  
-- and panic, mingled with the sense of a desperate loneliness, a singularity that was frightening in its intensity. Shuiichi was alone! For the first time in all his sixteen years, he was truly alone, and...  
  
Pain slammed into him like a runaway train. His body spasmed and a low, keening whimper vibrated in his throat. Shuiichi's eyes clenched tightly shut, and his hands twisted in the sheets. Kurama! he cried reflexively, and was aware of no response from the youko, if he was there at all --  
  
Then everything went mercifully blank.  
  
Shuiichi woke very, very slowly, eyes narrowed against the assault of morning flooding in through the window. His first thought was that he had forgotten to close it -- again -- and that he was going to be angry if his room was full of bugs. His second was that he was late -- quite late -- for school, as he usually woke before dawn. He glanced toward the clock dozily.  
  
The clock wasn't there. Curiouser and curiouser. Perhaps he had knocked it down to stop the alarm or something? He shifted to look down at the ground. There it lay... in broken pieces, cogs and wheels and bands discordantly scattered over the ground. One ruby brow quirked, and Shuiichi bent to pick up the shattered bits.   
  
Once he had gathered up the pieces, Shuiichi sat and stared down at them where they lay in his lap. After satisfying himself that the clock was broken beyond repair, he scooped up the parts and dumped them in the trashcan.  
  
Only then did Shuiichi look up to take stock of the room.  
  
His already-fair face went dead white.  
  
There, propped up on the doorjamb with a small, sadistic smirk adorning his face, was the slender, elegant, silver-haired Kurama in all his incredible glory, bathed in the morning's rose-hued light. One silver brow arched softly over narrow champagne-satin eyes that mirrored nothing at all in their depths.   
  
Gaping, Shuiichi stammered, "W-what are y-you doing? H-how did you -- why? When?" He trembled in terror of the piercing topaz gaze that watched him insolently, calmly.  
  
"It is of no significance to you, pet," slurred Kurama lazily, that voice carrying a velvet accent all its own, something that Shuiichi had never heard even when the kitsune spoke within his mind. He arched off the doorframe in one fluid motion, satiny tail flicking in his amusement.   
  
Shuiichi closed his eyes tightly, wanting desperately to believe that this was just a dream, that the way the youko moved was nothing more than something his own mind had conjured up to torture him again. He quivered in trepidation, not wanting to open his eyes and look.  
  
A moment later, Shuiichi felt a strong, slender hand clamp around his upper arm in a grip that would've done a vise proud. "Hush. Be still, little one, little redbird." As he neared, Shuiichi could begin to catch the faintest scent of roses and lemon, mingled with a sweet musky fragrance that was uniquely Kurama. The hand that gripped him was careful, long and slim, and before a moment passed, Shuiichi opened his eyes to see the youko's face, filling his vision, as beautiful and as deadly as a silver blade.   
  
An infinitesimal smirk curved Kurama's lips as he studied Shuiichi's white, terrified face. Those large, bright green eyes were shining with unshed tears and framed by long black lashes. That beautiful ruby tumble of hair was in disarray, and his lips, as soft and smooth as a woman's, trembled in fear. He was as pretty as a girl, Kurama thought appreciatively. "Be still, pet," he repeated absently, and pulled the shivering body to him, threading his fingers in Shuiichi's satiny hair.  
  
Shuiichi gave a soft whimper of fear, and Kurama felt himself stir, the muscles in his stomach clenching hotly with desire. He was so tempting, so precious... it was all Kurama could do to keep himself from taking Shuiichi then and there. 'Patience, Kurama,' he chided himself. What was the Ningen phrase? 'Good things come to those who wait. That's it. So wait.'   
  
Nevertheless, he carefully brushed aside the ruby strands, baring Shuiichi's graceful white throat. 'A temporary mark,' Kurama told himself firmly. To remind Shuiichi that he, Kurama, was the dominant one in this relationship, no matter how far it went. 'Just a temporary one. For my little mate's own good, to keep him from straying.' Placing a kiss on the very spot he intended to mark, he was gratified when the tension that was so heavy in Shuiichi's slender body melted away, leaving him pliant and soft in Kurama's arms. He smiled a pleased smile, then readied the warm fragrant skin with the softest caress, before nibbling it faintly, then biting down.   
  
A broken, strangled cry came from Shuiichi's throat as he grasped two handfuls of Kurama's silvery hair. He had expected the pain -- and intense it was -- but he had not expected the rush of pleasure and exhilaration that came with it. Unknowingly he pressed Kurama's face closer, and there it stayed for the briefest of moments until Kurama disengaged himself from the soft flesh and tossed Shuiichi's limp body onto the bed.  
  
Smirking roguishly, Kurama's tongue darted out to lap up a crimson droplet on his lower lip that had escaped his attention. He was hard-put to keep himself from joining Shuiichi in the bed -- Inari knew his body was demanding it, straining toward the final possession. If they did not mate within one year, the mark would fade and Kurama's chance would be gone. "Two weeks," Kurama slurred decisively, his voice harsh with the torture of self-control. "To come to terms with this. Two, do you hear me?" Shuiichi was half out of his mind, but he nodded, recognizing the authoritative tone of the youko's voice and listening intently. "After that I will take you, regardless of what you desire." Again the dazed nod. "I've... business elsewhere. I will return later for you, pet." A moment later, there was no trace of the kitsune, only a trembling weak Shuiichi, a broken alarm clock and the blood trickling down along Shuiichi's collarbone from the fresh mark.   
  
Shuiichi's first thought was that he was completely, entirely alone in his mind for the first time since his birth.  
  
The second thought was the crushing pain of separation from the one who had claimed him, and the tears came then. 


	4. Waiting for You

Champagne Satin  
  
Description (Chapter Four!) Two weeks is a very short time. Shuiichi spends his days in a hell of indecision, in pain because the one who claimed him is not present.   
  
Warnings Very angsty chapter, with a cliffhanger ending.   
  
"Damnit Kurama," came the irritable voice of the black-haired tantei. "Aren't you listening to me?"  
  
"Yes," came Shuiichi's weary, hoarse reply as he refocused his attention on Yuusuke's face, making his eyes clear, drawing another breath. He had spent nine nights awake -- or half-awake -- counseling his body on the art of breathing, keeping his food down, and other things that should have been second nature to him, but hadn't been, since Youko wasn't there. "Go on."  
  
However, Yuusuke's brown eyes studied Shuiichi's white face, noting the bruised blue shadows beneath his hazy green eyes. "No. You look like hell warmed slightly over. The hell's wrong with you, Kurama?"   
  
Shuiichi felt worry in Yuusuke's stern tone, and he shook his head slightly, watching brilliant stars dance in front of his eyes. He was about to respond to the tantei's command, but his stomach rebelled, and he doubled over, whimpering softly. "Kurama!" He could vaguely hear Yuusuke shout his name, and then he felt as if from a distance the thump that was meant to force breath into his lungs.   
  
It worked, and Shuiichi began to gasp, eyes tightly shut, relieved. Yuusuke watched him, wide-eyed, worried. "You're in somethin' deep," he said, and Shuiichi nodded, weary. "I want you to tell me what's going on," said the tantei leader, slouching onto the couch. "Don't you feed me any stupid excuse. I want the truth."  
  
Shuiichi gave a deep, quiet sigh, and then set about explaining.  
  
Yuusuke's olive-skinned face went first white, then pink, and then crimson. Shuiichi unfastened his collar, then tugged it down to show the proof.  
  
The place where Kurama's sharp fangs had broken the skin was bruised, the outline of the even straight teeth a silvery scar against the blue. Yuusuke's eyes widened, and he lifted a hand to touch the sore. A shudder and a faint mumbled oath escaped Shuiichi, and he said fiercely, "Don't." Yuusuke looked chastened.  
  
"Look, Kurama -- Shuiichi -- whatever. Go home. Go to sleep, or call Kurama -- Youko -- WHATEVER! -- or Hiei or whoever you need to call, but rest. Don't show your face around here until you can do so without practically dying on my couch, wouldja?" Yuusuke knew that if he didn't sound stern, the redhead would fight him, so he injected all the irritation of the past few days into his voice, hoping it would wound Shuiichi just enough to make him listen.  
  
Shuiichi lowered his face into his hands, and rubbed it briskly, his tense muscles aching. Yuusuke had spoken cruelly. "Yes. Okay, Yuusuke. Whatever you say." He stood, and Yuusuke watched him walk away, his strides long with his hands tucked in his pockets, the silky length of his crimson locks swaying against his back, the collar of his uniform still open.  
  
The soft fabric shifted and pressed against the wound as he strode out of Yuusuke's house, pushing shivers of silvery pleasure through his body. Shuiichi didn't care.  
  
Out into the rain, disowned and uncaring, Shuiichi went.   
  
It was cold. That much registered in the back of his mind, and Shuiichi just shrugged it off, letting the water saturate his uniform. He closed his eyes. How well did Shuiichi know this stretch of sidewalk? He'd been down it time and time again, and he would swear that someday his shoeprint would be worn permanently into the concrete -- if things ever were normal again, and Shuiichi was beginning to doubt they ever would be again.  
  
Two weeks.  
  
And they were almost up, and Shuiichi still hadn't come to a decision. What if Kurama came back, wanting him just like Shuiichi lusted after the touch of Kurama's hands. He needed the possessiveness, the sadistic wonders of pleasure Kurama knew, the way the fox could prop Shuiichi onto a rack of pleasure and keep the slender redhead writhing there until it suited him to let him down.   
  
Another faint shiver ran through Shuiichi as a runnel of cold water ran down his spine. He was keeping his mind to himself, and though he felt Hiei shadowing him, felt the dark youkai like a spark of anti-light, he couldn't bring himself to reach out for either him or the Youko.  
  
So Shuiichi kept walking numbly, even when his home loomed in view, continued walking, forcing himself to stay awake, to continue breathing even as he passed home and kept walking, the seedy part of town beginning.  
  
Shuiichi walked without cease, until he could walk no more, and ended up collapsed on his couch in a tangled mess of limbs and red hair.  
  
"Wake up, Shuiichi." The soft voice called from the depths of Shuiichi's dreams, low and velvety. It was like water to Shuiichi's starved senses. "Listen to me, pet. You are killing us both."  
  
'You're here?' Shuiichi thought, his mind hazily alert. 'You're here. Stay with me, Kurama. Please.' He mentally reached out through the link, seeking the youko's familiar mind pattern, feeling his physical body relax. 'Don't leave me.'  
  
With a deep, wistful sigh, Kurama settled himself into Shuiichi's mind. "Little one, we are in pain. It is foolish to stay apart because of your obstinacy. We cannot spend five more days this way. Please, for both of our sakes, drop your pride and let me end this pain. Let me be your world, little one. I will promise to see your point of view in things, pet, if you can try to understand mine."  
  
Shuiichi's body gave a violent heaving shudder. 'Kurama...' His crimson lashes fluttered, his mind a flurry of stress and activity. 'Kurama. Don't leave. Kurama, I need you here. Come back to me...'  
  
The youko was just about to reply, when Shuiichi's body gave a second shudder, and he jerked into wakefulness, involuntarily closing off his mind.   
  
A pair of frightened brown eyes met Shuiichi's slightly glazed green ones. "Shuiichi, sweetheart?" Her voice was soft and low, and Shuiichi could feel a soft wet cloth brushing against his forehead. "You have a fever, and you're nothing but skin and bones! What's happened to you while I was gone? You're a mess, love!" Shiori had gotten Shuiichi to his bed somehow, and the redhead lay prone under the blankets, which were damp with his own perspiration. Shuiichi dimly noticed he was freezing, even under his blankets. He started to speak, but found that his throat was half-closed and even so, raspy and painful. "Don't talk, precious one..." The cool rim of a teacup pressed against his lips, and Shuiichi gratefully drank, feeling the cooled tea soothe his throat, tasting of sweet berries and herbs.   
  
"Thank you, 'kaasan," Shuiichi whispered, smiling even though it hurt. "Got caught in the rain and couldn't get inside in time. Sorry." He felt like the lowest form of life for lying to his mother, to Shiori.   
  
"You just rest, sweetheart. Sleep. I'll be back with more tea." 


	5. Take Me At My Word

Champagne Satin  
  
Description (Chapter Five!) When one's the mate to a youko, one must expect the unexpected! When Kurama surprises Shuiichi, the stunned ningen mate to the youko can do nothing but follow along blindly... or surprise the fox demon with his precocity. (Warning: Fluffy, surprisingly sweet chapter. ^^)  
  
The days dragged on like the hem of a muddied cloak through rain-wet streets, and throughout it -- as though Shuiichi's confused emotion had summoned it -- the world rained. Water poured torrentially from the skies, dumping in great buckets upon the streets and grass and parks. It was fortunate that Shuiichi had summoned the energy from his sickened body to haul his best hybrids in from the back garden.  
  
He sat cooped silently in a cocoon of blankets. To Shiori's dismay, Shuiichi had not strengthened, and could not eat, no matter the delights she gathered for him. He only sat and read of a day, silent and pale and withdrawn.  
  
It was just past noon on a day that seemed slightly less rainy than the others, when Shuiichi felt a returning twitch of energy. The pale redhead sat up slowly, blinking, confused, and was shocked to find the tall icy specter of a silver fox demon, slouched against the wall. "It's about time," rasped Shuiichi in as reproving a tone as he could manage, considering the joy and sudden return of health that came flooding in great gouts through his frail body.   
  
Nor did the kitsune look quite in his normal fashion. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact; he was wearing Ningen clothing. That was the first thing to cross Shuiichi's view. Secondly, the redhead noted that Kurama had botched his dressing job terribly. The youko's ivory silk Western dress shirt, while finely-made, well-fitting and expensive (though Shuiichi doubted Kurama's will to pay for the goods he wore) was incorrectly buttoned, and the sharply-creased pale khaki chinos that Kurama wore -- while they, too, did a fine job of fitting his long legs, -- were belted by a deep indigo sash instead of a proper belt, though in the silver demon's case it seemed not so very terrible. As a matter of fact, it looked quite appealing, and to Shuiichi's weary exhausted eyes, the youko appeared as a specter from heaven sent to soothe him. He knew, however, that Kurama was not, for he felt his mind register the familiar possessive touch and breathed the scent of Kurama's kitsune musk deep into his starved lungs, feeling himself restore to his prior strength. "Kurama," Shuiichi said, suppressing his laughter, "what occasion merits this mode of dress?" He lifted his hands to gently right Kurama's clothing, unbuttoning the shirt and rebuttoning it properly, to the youko's chuckle.  
  
"I came to bring you out," said Kurama simply, watching as Shuiichi's nimble fingers slipped the silver buttons back through the loops. "I thought that perhaps a little foray out into Ningenkai might relax you, but you look as though you've just nearly died." Concern made the youko's heart turn over, and he gently shook Shuiichi's correcting hands off of him, and he lifted his own to gently run his hand through Shuiichi's ruby tumble of hair. "Pet, you nearly killed the both of us this way." Kurama smiled regretfully down at Shuiichi, who was gazing up at Kurama with those big, shining green eyes, until Kurama had to look away uncomfortably, and when he had regained his composure, he said gruffly, "Well, I still intend to bring you out, so get dressed, little redbird, and we will go." The youko placed a hat upon his head, which neatly hid the softness of his silver-furred ears, and shrugged into a well-fitted coat that hid the silky length of his tail.   
  
Shuiichi's face lit, and he scurried to get dressed. The youko had made such an effort on his part, he thought admiringly, and glanced sidelong at the distinguished profile of the silver demon, secretly examining the white lines of worry that bracketed the sensual mouth, studying the premature creases at the corners. Had he caused that? He didn't remember ever having seen the youko look so very relieved. Quietly anticipatory, he drew on his clothing, and stood before the mirror to yank the brush through his hair quickly, smiling thoughtfully as he turned back to Kurama.  
  
It turned out that Shuiichi didn't have to turn that much. Kurama stood right behind him, one hand gently lifting the ruby mass of Shuiichi's hair admiringly, before settling against the soft warm column of Shuiichi's neck, possessively circling it above the collar of his soft lavender shirt. Shuiichi flushed with simple pleasure, then said quietly, "Welcome home." Kurama shared Shuiichi's smile for a long moment, looking at their reflection in the mirror. Both slender, ethereal creatures, Shuiichi looked pale and fragile against Kurama's stronger form. Neither of them seemed to have a single flaw to them at all, Shuiichi's soft jade-silk shirt a delicate contrast to Kurama's white one.   
  
At length, Kurama smirked. "Shall we, little one?"  
  
Shuiichi nodded, and started to step away, then paused. "Wait. If we're going out into Ningenkai, you must remember -- you cannot take off your hat and coat, alright? Nobody in Ningenkai must find out that you're a demon." Concern darkened his green eyes.  
  
Kurama tossed his head imperiously, and his silver hair fell around it, beneath the brim of his hat. "I don't intend to give myself away. I am doing this for you, pet, and none else. I have no desire whatsoever to consort with Ningens."  
  
Nodding, Shuiichi let Kurama out onto the rain-wet streets, into the bustle of a city that was surging after the days of rain. The youkai and the human made their way through the swarms of businessmen and women and parents with small children that gawked at Kurama's exorbitant height in comparison to Shuiichi's slender, smaller, paler appearance. The red-haired ningen smiled at the children sweetly, and Kurama would eye them with arched silver brows over amused golden eyes. The children laughed, flattered that the two men would pay them any mind.  
  
Shuiichi had to stop and rest several times on their way, pausing to sit down at one of the tables at a roadside café, his cheeks flushed with exertion, and Kurama calmly sat down beside him, placing a pale clawed hand on the redhead's shoulder. "Are you alright, pet?" came the calm, possessive voice.  
  
Just as Shuiichi was about to respond, a little boy's shout came to his ears. "Hey mister! Hey! With the silver hair!!" Blinking, the redhead looked about in puzzlement, and then matched voice to creature, with a little sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy that had an amazed, wide-eyed look on his face. "Kurama," said Shuiichi, chuckling, "he's summoning you." The fox-demon's left eye ticked, and then he turned to find his mate gesturing for the child to come sit. The little boy's parents let him go, but watched with wide eyes as the small boy climbed up into Shuiichi's lap and sat there, looking at Kurama through those narrowed summer-blue eyes.  
  
The little boy drew a deep breath, then said in a soft, confidential tone, "Hey mister... how come you're wearing a tail under your jacket?" He looked truly worried, his eyes wide and his cherubic features set in a fearful pout. Shuiichi nearly fell out of his chair, before Kurama grabbed his arm, keeping him steady.   
  
Kurama swallowed, then looked at Shuiichi for help. Clearing his throat, Shuiichi spoke. "Can you keep a secret, little one?" His voice was solemn and soft, and those big green eyes spoke to the little boy, who nodded eagerly, and said, "Promise I won't tell!" Shuiichi smiled and looked at Kurama. On his love's whim, Kurama lifted the edge of his French chapeau. The little boy's blue eyes grew wide and glossy with amazement as the youko twitched the soft silver appendages. "Are they real?" whispered the boy in awe. Kurama nodded with a smile, the softness of his ears twitching. "Can I... well..."  
  
Kurama lifted the hat a bit higher, and the little ningen boy lifted his hand to shyly touch the silver-velvet ears, which twitched to his touch. "Careful now," admonished the youko, trying not to flinch against the touch of a ningen who was not Shuiichi. However, the redhead's hand rested on his shoulder, gentling the fox demon to the child's touch. "How'd you get those, mister?"   
  
"I was born with them," Kurama narrated with a small smile. "I'm a fox demon."  
  
The boy nearly fell off of Shuiichi's lap in his enthusiasm. "Wow!" stage-whispered the child. "Hey, I heard that fox demons make good protectors... will you be mine? My name's Daniel."  
  
"I'm Kurama," responded the youko, reaching over to tousle the boy's sandy curls. "I'll see what I can do for you, Daniel, but you can't tell anyone about me. Agreed?" Wide-eyed, the ningen child nodded adamantly. "Good kit -- that is, child. Now run along to your parents." Obediently, Daniel scooted down off Shuiichi's lap with a big respectful grin at the silver-haired demon and his ruby-haired mate, who exchanged a laughing glance, and rose to vanish into the crowd before the boy's parents could memorize their faces.  
  
Once they had made good their escape, Shuiichi said softly, "That was a kind thing you did for that boy, Kurama." He was worrying his lower lip between rows of even white teeth. "Not something I would've -- " He cut himself off, blushing.  
  
" -- something you would have expected," Kurama said quietly, "from a youko. From me. Right?" When the ruby-haired boy didn't respond, Kurama felt a spasm in the area of his heart, surprising him with its intensity. "Yes, well," he said softly, "I'm just as capable of kindness as any other demon."   
  
"That's not what I'm worried about," said Shuiichi softly. And it wasn't. It was his own mortality he feared. He didn't want to hurt Kurama, nor did he wish to be hurt by the handsome youkai. Even so, the memory of his brutal searing kiss, the memory of fangs breaking skin, sent a frisson of ecstasy down Shuiichi's spine. Kurama picked up on it, and growled alertly.  
  
"Surely you're not afraid of a little passion," said the youko, in a tone of disbelief.  
  
"You lived in me once," said Shuiichi, in a very quiet voice. "You know all too well what I am and am not afraid of. You could terrify me, or you could be an ideal lover -- and either way, I would not know what you truly felt."   
  
The traffic on the sidewalks was lessening, and it left Shuiichi and Kurama walking slowly, alone, down the road, attracting the attention of passersby as a beautiful distraction. "I don't suppose," whispered Kurama, "that you could take me at my word?"  
  
That stilled Shuiichi in his tracks. Here he was preaching about trust in his own supercilious, self-righteous way, and he couldn't find it in his heart to trust the beautiful fox-demon, who was opening more to him every moment, as a beautiful bloom might open to the sun, slowly -- very slowly, barely there, but movement nevertheless -- but surely. He swallowed hard, and thought he felt his pride go down, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. "I don't suppose," quipped Shuiichi softly, pausing, so that Kurama's face darkened in anger, "that you could destroy this pride of mine and save both our lives, could you?"  
  
The demon's face went through a gamut of emotion, from anger to disbelief, from joy to dazzled wonder. He drew a deep breath, looking down at the upturned pale oval of Shuiichi's face.  
  
It was then that he noticed Shuiichi's cheeks were fire-engine red with exertion again, and that the little ningen's breath was coming in short pants. Kurama swore fluently in the language of youkai, before he caught Shuiichi against him. "Now. We are going to go rest, and you will sleep until you are well again." Shuiichi protested that there could be no sleep without Kurama at his side, a soothing presence to his body, who craved the youko's nearness like a drug to an addict. Kurama brooked no arguments, and said with great certainty, "I will be there while you sleep."  
  
Shuiichi nodded, and allowed Kurama to lead him back toward home, a slender red-haired figure leaning against a taller, stronger silver-haired one, walking slowly and calmly into the evening.  
  
The youko Kurama sat upon the couch, his hat cocked down to cover his eyes, his arms gently wrapped around Shuiichi's slim body. The redheaded ningen reclined at ease against the demon's broad chest, his breathing soft and even as Kurama's mind dwelled within Shuiichi's.  
  
Unbidden, desire rose in Kurama, heating the youko's blood, firing his lust so that he could barely breathe. He coughed softly, hoping to clear his throat, and a soft whimper escaped the sleeping Shuiichi, who burrowed deeper into the hard wall of Kurama's chest. The fox demon froze like a deer caught in a hunter's eye, deciding that it was not a good idea to wake his mate with the urgency of the fire coursing through his veins. A rigid self-control fell over Kurama's mind, and he swallowed hard, forcing his body to relax bit by bit, muscle by muscle.  
  
Kurama was gratified when Shuiichi's tightened muscles went loose, and his warm body softened against Kurama's own.   
  
Succumbing to the restful soft rhythm of Shuiichi's sleep patterns, Kurama closed his eyes.  
  
Soon, both youko and ningen lay sleeping as the moonlight began to flood in through the windows. All was right in their little sphere of existence.  
  
A/N: Salutations, faithful readers! This update took much longer than I intended it to! I am very sorry; I have not lost interest in this story, but I had exams these past two weeks and things have been hectic at home. Email me at foriornhopes@aol.com if you want a preview of Chapter 6; it's in the works as we speak. Happy reading! 


	6. Remembrance and Trouble

Champagne Satin  
  
Description (Chapter Six!) [Being a rather... Youko-centric chapter...] Kurama learns in Makai from the summoned specter of his old friend Kuronue that consummating the commitment of mating a ningen to a youkai can have the direst of consequences, unless the youkai is willing to first convert the human. Meanwhile, in Ningenkai, Shuiichi is growing more ill by the moment, just as Kuronue predicted. Neither can afford to take chances or make mistakes, when they are playing with their collective life... Chapter ends with one hell of a plot twist! Ten merits to whoever can figure it out!  
  
He had always thought of Makai as a bright, exotic place that bloomed in every way, with misty clouds of jungle-scented fog that rose from the ground. Here, however, was a different story. The ground beneath the fox demon's feet reeked of rotting moss and dead leaves, the unsavory odor of death and bitterness and grudges held across time and space. Kurama was surprisingly nervous, his tail fluffed with discomfort and his eyes dark with worry.   
  
Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, and then Kurama stopped dead. He squinted down at the ground with a semblance of calm. It had been a good twenty years since he had seen this place. For the last five of his years as a youko he had spent mourning the friend who had died here, brutally slaughtered. Now he had returned, bringing things full-circle. He had come to resurrect the ghosts of the past -- his former love, Kuronue -- to save the spirit of his future, Shuiichi, his little redbird.   
  
The unnatural stillness was not in the least surprising to Kurama. Birds stilled their chirping, no cricket made a sound, and no animal rustled in any bush. Winds watched with bated breath, wroth with Kurama for the travesty he was committing. It was youko way to accept things, and move on without protest or incident, but not this youko. With a deep breath, he began the remembrance ceremony.  
  
Laughing violet eyes began the impression, narrow and heavy-lashed with a mischievous glint in their depths. And then, following that, came the fair softness of the skin, crinkled with laughter around those warm eyes and lined, dimpled in one cheek with the traces of a perpetual cocky grin on full lips that the younger demon instinctively knew were soft, but could crush possessively against another's. The images were flowing now: silky black hair bound into a swinging, bouncing ponytail that was so much a part of him; a lean, hard body that was strong and well-tuned and responded to any command given it by a clever mind that was quick to jump to solving a problem.   
  
And then, with the splash of truth, there came the sound of the bat-youkai's laughter, so sweet and so welcome after all the years Kurama had spent without him. It gladdened the youko to hear that sound, and his pointed, silver-furred ears flicked involuntarily. "So you found the gate, did you? You old pickpocket, I don't suppose it would have come easy to you," came the amiable dart at Kurama's pride. The youko about-faced, his hair flying. When it settled, Kurama nearly choked.  
  
There before him, in all his dark glory, was Kuronue, that lithe body cockily canted against a tree. His grin was bright and mirthful, and his expression was one of high spirits. That wealth of hair still framed his face, which was pale as death itself but still cheerful. "Yeah, I'm here in the flesh, kitsune," pointed out the bat-youkai, smirking that old familiar smirk that revealed his sharp-pointed fangs.   
  
Kurama stepped forward hesitantly, looked at the violet-eyed youkai, and then took another step forward. He swallowed hard. Kuronue snorted. "Eh, kitsune, just as strange as ever I see. C'mere." With that, they met one another in perhaps two steps, and the youko found himself locked into the bat-youkai's strong embrace. The familiar cinnamon-and-earth scent enveloped Kurama, and Kuronue was in turn brought to full awareness by the oddly soft scent of Kurama's pure kitsune musk, tainted with roses and herbs. A moment later the embrace had loosened, and Kuronue had kissed the youko, a fleeting brush of those silk-over-steel lips that made Kurama remember why he had been so attached to him, and then, a moment later, he stiffened.   
  
"I can't, Kuro. Wait, wait..." The bat-youkai's bold hand had been wandering down along Kurama's hard-muscled stomach, and even through the soft cloth of his tunic, Kurama was certain that Kuronue could feel the clenching and locking of his muscles. What he wouldn't give to be able to let Kuronue relieve the great, lustful tension that had been building in him since the ningen puberty he had suffered as Shuiichi. "Kuro. I have claimed a mate. I cannot risk nulling that!"  
  
Kuronue's face went white. "A mate? Kurama... a mate?" The bat-youkai looked as though Kurama had punched him soundly in the stomach. "Then... why did you summon me back? To rub it in --"  
  
"Steady on, Kuronue," Kurama soothed, taking his friend's clawed hands in his own, though Kuro's hands were trembling and stiff, as though someone had poked little wires into what had once been the embodiment of lust to Kurama. "I need you. You always were wiser in the ways of the world than I. I fear for his life -- I have not yet claimed him physically, nor have I convinced him to return the marking."  
  
Kuronue, stifling the pain in his heart, nodded. "Yes. Is he a proper youkai, that he can take your mark and go on unscathed?"  
  
"What do you mean?" asked Kurama softly. "Go on unscathed? He is a human, Kuronue... what do you mean?"  
  
The bat-youkai frowned. "You did not convert him before you marked him? Surely he cannot be living -- how long ago did you claim him, Kurama? It is imperative that you remember and remember well, because it could mean the difference between life and death for him."  
  
Kurama's brows furrowed, and he said quietly, "Two weeks," and Kuronue eyed Kurama as though he were a particularly unclever child, his winged dark brows arched over bemused violet eyes.  
  
"Two weeks... Ugh, Kurama, you've just sentenced the boy to death, unless you're willing to convert him within three days now. His body cannot handle the change to his systems. A lifemate must share the very rhythms of your life -- your breathing, your heartbeat, your very mental patterns. Surely you have noted that your breathing and your heartbeat are a thousand times slower than his!" Kuronue berated the other youkai furiously.  
  
Kurama's heart stopped, and gave a sick flip-flop in his chest. His beloved Shuiichi... a youkai? There was no way... he couldn't. How bad of him would that be? Surely Shuiichi would not wish to live that sort of life. He couldn't risk it but yet he -had- to, if only for love and for the way they were so closely interlinked already. "How?" said Youko simply, miserably. He had to.  
  
Kuronue surveyed the one who had been the closest to him for so very long. "You must gain his permission, and you must allow him to return the claim you staked on him. He must drink the blood he draws until it no longer flows, and then you must enter his mind and help him to endure the pain of the change. For a full night, you will be as one person in your pain -- but when the morning comes..."  
  
Kurama looked down at the ground. "He will be as I am." He nodded slowly, then those amber eyes hardened, brightened like topaz jewels. "So be it." He clenched a clawed hand into a fist. "Kuronue... thank you." He reached out, pressed a careful hand to his old friend's shoulder, his expression as elegantly unreadable as it ever was.   
  
Silently the bat-youkai nodded his head. "Then go, Kurama."  
  
~*~  
  
He had convinced himself that this deep, bone-aching weariness was all in his head and so he had risen, despite the pain, to tend his garden. Shuiichi had spent too much time away from it, and it had been languishing in his absence. He frowned unhappily at the sight of brown leaves. Despite the fact that he could not use the youko's demon energy, he had retained some of the more open characteristics of the one who had lived so long within him, among them being the love for plants. He bent to observe a withering stem and sighed deeply, not in the least bit surprised when that action brought him to a cough so deep and wrenching it had him kneeling with one arm clamped over his aching chest. "Where is that baka kitsune?" rasped Shuiichi, forcing his fingers to relax from where they had practically cramped. A rush of lightheadedness forced him to sit down, leaning against the rails of the balcony dizzily. The green of his plants blurred before his eyes, fuzzing in and out, and his head felt as though it were filled with some thick, sloshing liquid. His lungs began to burn as he desperately tried to suck in air, his eyes wide and filled with tears, his cheeks flushing crimson.  
  
The last thing Shuiichi knew was a flash of darkness and the taste of silky bitter blood upon his lips, and a familiar small, burning-hot hand pressed against the back of his head, encouraging Shuiichi to 'drink, for your life and your mate's,' in a gruff but familiar voice.  
  
And then the world went black. 


End file.
